


Malbec in the Bookshop

by DPS



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/M, First Time, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 06:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21387994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPS/pseuds/DPS
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale share their first time in Aziraphale's dusty bookshop over a bottle of wine. It's been 6,000 years, after all.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 92





	Malbec in the Bookshop

Aziraphale sat in the worn armchair in his bookshop- his very much _not_ burned down bookshop, thank you very much- and thought of Crowley.

Crowley- his adversary, the wily fiend, original tempter, who over the course of six millennia had come to mean much, much more than the aforementioned phrases to the stuffy angel. The demon who was so achingly human at times that Aziraphale had to look away to quell the emotion welling up in his far too expressive eyes.

“Oh, Crowley,” he muttered to himself, his brow furrowed in thought as he sipped his evening tea. What to do with his lovely, patient demon?

Armageddon, or the lack-thereof, had been completed for over two months now. True to his word, Aziraphale had taken Crowley to the Ritz and the two had shared a lovely meal, just the two of them.

_“To the world.”_

And the world was utterly safe; in fact, it was utterly the same. That was the problem at hand.

Aziraphale did not want to retreat back into his solitary ways- only seeing Crowley a handful of times a century for “The Arrangement.” That particular accord died with their respective head offices trying to obliterate them. Aziraphale looked around his bookshop with fondness and a pang of something indescribable.

It just wasn’t enough anymore- surrounding himself with first editions and knick-knacks and the like without a particular demon to share it with. Something had to be done.

It was truly the two of them against the world.

With his head swirling with thoughts, and some regrets, Aziraphale didn’t notice the demon in question saunter into the bookshop with a flippant, “hey!”

When Crowley realized Aziraphale didn’t hear him, he took a moment to observe his, obviously distracted, angel.

_Not yours, not yours, not-_

But even despite his internal denials, Crowley gazed fondly at Aziraphale from behind his dark lenses. The angel was clearly deep in thought if he hadn’t noticed the presence of his ‘hereditary enemy’ yet.

Not that the moniker stung Crowley in the least- absolutely not. Even if he wanted Aziraphale to think well of him, to think that the demon was capable of kindness, he would never, under threat of torture, admit to it. 

“My dear Crowley!” Aziraphale sang out a moment later, his furrowed brows replaced with a beaming grin, and Crowley felt the pang of sadness from the earlier memory washed away at the sight of those pale blue eyes sparkling with happiness. Despite the lateness of the hour, the bookshop seemed glowing and radiant from the cheery disposition exuding from the angel.

And no matter how many millennia passed, no matter how many times he encountered that particular brand of enthusiastic welcome, Crowley would never be fully used to that angelic grin being aimed at _him_.

“What are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked excitedly, his tone implying that he didn’t quite care what the answer was, but simply that he was glad to see Crowley at all.

“I-ugh- I was in Soho, tempting a couple of shopkeepers, and I figured I would stop by…” He trailed off, one hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck and he tried to quell the heat from rising to his face_. What a lame excuse. Why does this feel different? We’ve done this a thousand times before. _

But Crowley knew it _was _different, now- the air between them was strained with years of half-uttered confessions and broken promises and something sweet and new. Something unspoken.

“Well I’m glad that you thought of me, my dear,” Aziraphale continued, ignoring Crowley’s awkward behavior in favor of moving towards the liquor cabinet.

Aziraphale leaned down to inspect the cabinet, and Crowley couldn’t resist peaking down appreciatively at the plump rear before his eyes for a moment before darting his eyes away guiltily.

Shaking his head to clear it of the sudden onslaught of Thoughts with a capital T, Crowley went to sit (or rather, _sprawl_) on the chaise lounge with his signature slither.

“How does some vintage Malbec sound, my dear boy?” Aziraphale asked with a hum, holding up a dusty bottle of wine. Crowley grunted his approval and- ignoring the angel’s mutterings about manners- waited for Aziraphale to pass over the wine.

He needed it.

Aziraphale, in a move he hasn’t partaken in since Rome, forwent the glasses entirely and nudged Crowley’s legs out of the way to share the chaise and pass the bottle back and forth.

He perched on the edge, his posture as impeccable as ever, but as he turned to face Crowley, his outer thigh pressed firmly against Crowley’s.

Crowley raised his eyebrows behind his glasses but didn't utter a protest- especially since he could feel the heat radiated from where their legs were touching. He could feel the happiness and warmth radiating from his angel, and it was utterly intoxicating.

He could feel the holy grace in the air, but it didn't burn, it felt similar to-

Shaking his head, Crowley took a large gulp of wine and ignored his traitorous thoughts. 

They passed the wine back and forth- Aziraphale taking small sips from the bottle and Crowley taking deep swigs and ignoring Aziraphale’s clucks at his uncouth behavior. They talked about Rome, the Middle East, their adventures in Paris, and their temptations in America. Aziraphale had a closed mouth smile as Crowley talked about his favorite temptations and entertained the angel with his untamable energy. As they talked, the wine continued to flow between the two immortal beings until Aziraphale has quite relaxed, his legs against Crowley’s legs and his arm braced against Crowley's knee. Crowley shivered at their contact and tried to remain nonchalant.

That is, until Aziraphale said: “My dear, would you mind terribly taking off your glasses? I would much rather see your face while we are conversing.”

Crowley froze- what should he do? If he took them off, then Aziraphale would see his lovesick expressions. If not, he would have to face a rather put-out angel.

And he couldn’t have Aziraphale upset.

With a sigh, Crowley plucked off his glasses and placed them on a nearby table; after blinking a few times to allow his eyes to acclimate to the light, he turned his yellow gaze to the angel who sat, looking at him with a tender look in those eyes.

“There you are,” Aziraphale said with a shy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Crowley had seen that smile before, but never for long. 

“Here I am,” Crowley replied stupidly, gazing at the angel and willing his expression to be neutral, despite the light flush he felt rising to his cheeks at the angel’s close proximity. Aziraphale was acting oddly...

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, placing the wine down on the floor between them and then looking into Crowley’s eyes. The angel then sobered up, his eyes cleared from the slightly sleepy appearance. Reaching forward, as if in a trance, Aziraphale placed his hand gently on Crowley’s cheek with a look of wonder.

Crowley immediately, unwillingly, leaned his face into Aziraphale’s soft, plump hand and gave an inaudible sigh. He felt vulnerable, knowing Aziraphale was watching him so closely, and he closed his eyes from the onslaught of emotion.

"Aziraphale, what-"

“Crowley, my darling,” Aziraphale interrupted, and he felt a fiery heat licking at his cheeks, “please sober up for me.”

Crowley did as he was bid, and felt the alcohol leaving his system and his inhibitions rising with the loss of the liquid courage. Wait…

“Did you just?” Crowley trailed off, half imaging the endearment.

“Call you my darling? Yes, you are, in a certain light,” Aziraphale teased lightly, his thumb tracing Crowley’s jawline as he whispered, his breath fanning over Crowley’s face and his eyes sparkling with mischief and something still unnamed.

_When had their faces grown so close together?_ Crowley thought with a sudden nervous pang. He felt wrong-footed and utterly unprepared for this attention. What was the angel aiming for? 

“Aziraphale, I-“

But before he could utter another protestation, a pair of pink, feather-light lips were resting gently on his own, tensing and relaxing just enough to count as a kiss. A brief, barely there tongue wetting his lips. It lasted merely seconds, but the tingling spread from Crowley’s lips down his spine and he began to shiver.

Before he could even think of reciprocating, the angel leaned back with a sigh while leaving their heads close together. Whispering, he asked, “Was that okay, Crowley? You’re shaking.”

Nodding breathlessly (despite breathing being unnecessary), he inadvertently rubbed their noses together and their lips brushed together once, twice more.

“Well then,” the angel whispered back, and suddenly the two were kissing deeply, sweet pecks interchanged with deep, nipping kisses that lingered in the dusty bookshop. Crowley felt heat licking up his spin and spreading across his pale cheeks at Aziraphale's practiced movements.

_Do no think of Aziraphale being practiced_, he thought with a snarl as he kissed back, his fangs growing out slightly to nip at Aziraphale's plush lower lip. This earned a deep groan from the angel who leaned even closer. 

Crowley leaned forward and, frustrated with the distance between them and unwinding his legs, straddled the angel with a burst of courage that he didn’t know he possessed. Looking down at the beloved angel, Crowley couldn’t believe that _Aziraphale_ made the first move.

When he stammered as such, his tone in disbelief, Aziraphale simply laughed and said, “Well, I think we’ve established that I am the one between the two of us that goes too slow. It was time for me to follow your lead and pick up the pace, my love.”

At that endearment, Crowley’s blush renewed and he leaned down to kiss Aziraphale before the angel could notice- or worse, _comment-_ on the demon’s sudden bashfulness.

“Have I told you the parts of you that I adore?” Aziraphale commented between nibbling on Crowley’s earlobe.

“Ahh, n-no,” Crowley choked out, quite overwhelmed with sensation and the thrumming heat at the apex of his thighs. Oh no, this would be his undoing. Aziraphale whispering sweet nothings into his ears.

Crowley gulped as Aziraphale kissed him for a moment before whispering: “I love your eyes,” Aziraphale leaned back to look at him and kissed each eyelid when Crowley obediently lowered them in shy acquisition. 

“I love your neck, long and tempting,” He murmured, nipping lightly at the neck and savoring Crowley’s gasp. Lingering for a moment longer, Aziraphale sucked gently at the based of his collarbone, leaving a small mark and relishing the demon's gasping sigh of, "_angel._" 

“I love your gorgeous hair,” Aziraphale whispered, reaching up to toy with the short strands with one hand while the other deftly unbuttoned Crowley’s shirt.

Crowley latched onto Aziraphale’s shoulders and held on, helplessly aroused at the praise and sensations and Aziraphale didn’t even have his clothes off yet.

The inexorable need to Aziraphale grew until he was begging for something, anything: “please, angel, I need ssssomething more!” The sibilants tumbled out without permission, but Aziraphale didn't seem to mind in the slightest as he just continued to massage and kiss and stroke every inch of Crowley he could reach. 

And while Aziraphale is just a bit of a bastard, no one can say he isn’t also merciful.

With a lighting quick snap of his fingers, Crowley was undressed and writhing in Aziraphale’s arms while the angel pinned his arms and whispered: “I think I’m going to love this new part the most,” he teased, fingers finally reaching the apex of Crowley’s thighs and stroking gently at the little nub resting there, “almost as much as _I love you_.”

"_Oh_, oh angel!" 

Crowley melted, writhed, and moaned as Aziraphale continued his blasphemous worship of the blushing demon in his arms.

* * *

The wine rested on the floor until the morning when Aziraphale would examine it with a fond grin and decide that, despite its modest flavor, Malbec was indeed one of the better wines.


End file.
